


All In a Night's Work

by citrinesunset



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/pseuds/citrinesunset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen meets a man who says he worked at Torchwood One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All In a Night's Work

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a new fic. I wrote it for the kink meme way back in [April, 2010](http://touchyerwood.livejournal.com/910.html?thread=166286#t166286), and never got around to de-anoning or anything. I decided to post it here because why not? I'm kinda obsessive about having all my fics in the same place more or less.

Owen enjoyed observing people in pubs. It was better than actually having to interact with them. For example, right now he was observing an argument between the bartender, whose name was Cindy, and the man sitting two stools down.

"You're not supposed to be here," Cindy said. "The owner says you're barred."

The man, who was wearing tight jeans and whose dark hair was wet, leaned on the bar. "I swear, I'm not working. It's raining, and I just want a vodka. I have money."

He pulled out a couple bills, and held them out to Cindy as proof. She looked down at them like he was handing her a used condom, but she finally took them and poured him his vodka.

Owen took his time with his own drink. If it was raining, he might stick around until it cleared up some. He noticed the man looking at him, and returned the look.

"What?" he asked.

He man took a sip of his vodka. "You're with Torchwood, aren't you?"

"Don't know what you're talking about, mate."

"I've seen you around, with that bloke in the coat." He took another drink and added, "I worked in London."

Until now, Owen had assumed he was dealing with one of the conspiracy theorists they had to deal with from time to time. The London comment startled him. Owen had never met any of the Canary Wharf survivors, and he had trouble believing that this guy was really one of them. The Cardiff accent didn't help convince him.

Owen looked away, and didn't reply. The other man finished his drink and left, not saying another word. When Cindy walked by, Owen flagged her down.

"What's the deal with that guy? Why's he barred?"

Cindy tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned closer to him. With a lowered voice, she said, "You know those guys you see down the street sometimes? The ones who, you know, are working? He's one of them."

Owen realized that this was roundabout way of saying "He's a prostitute."

"He used to come in here sometimes," Cindy said. "With his customers. Owner didn't like it."

Well, that was a twist. Then again, the bloke had looked like a rent boy. Not that Owen had seen that many to begin with.

Owen swallowed down his drink and headed for the door. He felt like getting properly pissed, but he didn't want to leave his car here overnight. Stepping outside, he found that the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. Could be worse. He sprinted across the street to get to his car. There was a figure standing under an awning, smoking a cigarette, and he realized it was the man from the pub.

Owen tried to walk past without looking, but failed. The man met his eyes and flicked cigarette ash onto the pavement. Owen felt like he had to say something to hide the reason he was staring.

"You're mad, standing out here in this weather."

The man just shrugged. "That's business, right?"

"Yeah, right. She told me what you do. And I'm supposed to believe you worked for Torchwood?"

The man just shrugged, and Owen continued towards his car. He stopped once more, turning around and saying, "Seriously, though, all you're gonna get standing out here is a chill."

"Well, it's fifty for a blow, if you want to get me out of the rain so much."

Owen hesitated, his mouth hanging open in an un-uttered retort. His hesitance must have been interpreted as interest, because the man stepped out from under the awning. He dropped his cigarette, ground it out with his toe, and walked closer.

Finally, Owen said, "Nah, mate. But you have a good one."

"You sure? I'm the best you'll find out here." He slid his hands into his pockets, drawing Owen's eyes to the bulge in his jeans. The damn things were so tight that Owen could see just about everything. It was a wonder he could sit in them.

Owen shifted uncomfortably. He had, actually, been with a prostitute before. But not a man, and not some weird wanker like this. He hadn't been planning to be with anyone tonight, but now he had a nagging feeling that if he went straight home, he would end up wanking angrily to porn while he wondered about what he could have gotten instead.

"Would you do it for forty?" he asked.

"No. Fifty. There's a carpark nearby we can go to."

Finally, Owen nodded. "Fine, let's go, then." He got into his car and unlocked the passenger door. The man slid into the passenger seat, took off his jacket, and directed him for about half a mile to the carpark. Owen parked and turned off the engine. Raindrops began to accumulate on the windshield.

"First the money," the man said.

Owen thought about arguing that, but then he realized it was fair enough. He pulled out his wallet and counted the bills. As he handed them over, he said, "Do I get to know your name?"

"Ianto."

"Right, I'm Owen."

"I know. I've seen you before, remember?"

"Yeah, right, so how we gonna do this?"

Ianto shrugged. "Up to you. We can do it up here, but the back seat might be better."

"Back seat, then."

After a few minutes of fumbling, they settled in. Owen leaned back and Ianto knelt on the seat beside him, putting one hand on his shoulder and using the other to rub his groin through his jeans.

"Can I touch you?" Owen asked.

Ianto nodded, so Owen reached out, putting one hand on his hip and the other over his crotch. Ianto planted a kiss on his lips and slid his hand down the front of Owen's jeans, touching him, now, with nothing but the thin fabric of his boxers in the way.

Owen bit out a moan, and Ianto sat back. He dug in his pocket, pulling out a condom packet. He held it in his mouth while he undid Owen's jeans and pulled his half-hard cock out of his boxers. He expertly used his fingers to bring Owen to a full erection, and rolled the condom on before leaning across the seat with his head in Owen's lap.

Owen closed his eyes and laid his head back. Ianto's tongue and lips were warm. He alternated between gently licking the head and running the length of the cock in and out of his mouth. In the midst of it, Owen didn't know what to do with his hands. Usually, when getting a blow-job, he would run his hands through the person's hair. But was that too intimate? He settled on putting one hand on Ianto's back, and trying not to thrust his hips up too hard into his mouth.

"Faster," he said, his voice hoarse. "Oh, God, that's good."

Ianto obliged. Each time Owen moaned or rolled his hips, Ianto would replicate the action that caused it, bringing Owen closer and closer to the edge.

It wasn't long before he was coming. His pelvic muscles tightened and his cock jerked, and as he looked up at the fuzzy car ceiling, he thought that yeah, Ianto was one of the better blow-jobs he'd had lately.

He looked down to see Ianto pull back, leaving the condom glistening with saliva. Ianto sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Owen carefully removed the condom and put his cock back in his pants.

"I take it you're satisfied," Ianto said. He sat back in the seat and looked out the window. The rain was picking up again.

"Yeah, it was good," Owen said.

Ianto reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of hard candy. He pulled off the crinkly wrapper, popped it in his mouth and said, "The latex taste, you know?"

Ianto looked out the window again and said, "I really did work at Canary Wharf. You can look me up and see."

"Then why the fuck are you doing this?"

Ianto shrugged. "It was what I was doing before I got hired. That's the thing about Torchwood. They don't care too much about your employment past."

"Well, yeah, but you could do anything now."

"Right, because Torchwood looks wonderful on a resume. No, you leave with the exact same opportunities you always had, if not fewer. And no offense, but even if you guys offered me a job, I'm through with Torchwood."

Owen didn't blame him, and he supposed he was right. If he ever left Torchwood alive, he would end up right back where he started, working in some dreadful A&E.

After a moment, Ianto said, "But, you know, it's not like I don't have my options. I wouldn't do this if I minded it. Shit, the weather's getting worse. I should go."

"Can I drive you somewhere?"

Ianto shook his head. "No, thanks, I'm fine." He reached into the front seat and got his jacket. He pulled it over his head and got out of the car.

Owen watched, through distorted view of the rain-covered window, until Ianto disappeared.


End file.
